


love is a battlefield (well slade thinks it is, from wintergreen's pov it’s more like the world’s longest, stupidest game of go fish)

by apprenticenanoswarm



Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 01:51:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17951354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apprenticenanoswarm/pseuds/apprenticenanoswarm
Summary: William’s heart belongs to one man. Alas, he’s a pillock.





	love is a battlefield (well slade thinks it is, from wintergreen's pov it’s more like the world’s longest, stupidest game of go fish)

William Wintergreen had been in love with Slade Wilson for twenty years.

It was something he hardly thought about, these days.

That was practice, partly. Two years into the arduous business of being in love with Slade Wilson, he’d realised that if he continued to let the man devour his every waking thought, he’d eventually lose his mind. So he’d exercised the exemplary will power that had earned him Slade’s esteem in the first place and compartmentalised. Ruminations on Slade’s beautiful jaw, thick thighs and lush, curly hair were confined to the hours of 2am to 4am and the occasional illicit Sunday afternoon wank.

“Heh, guess that’s… _mmnf_?”

And he’d no right to be greedy, he’d always told himself.

Slade had always been closer to him than to his own wife, even before she’d buried a bullet in his brain. They knew one another’s deepest secrets. With buckets and sponges, they’d grimly washed the results of a mutual week-long bout of gastroenteritis off one another during a memorably dreadful mission in Sweden. They’d once spent Christmas hunting Nazis in Egypt and, when they’d caught them, had shown one another the cruellest, most vindictive parts of their souls. William had seen Slade cry. Slade knew about William’s sister. They were one another’s foremost friends, allies, confidants, conspirators, and chess rivals.

Compared to all that, William’s annoyingly resilient romantic longing – and, yes, alright, feral lust – seemed trivial. Childish, even.

“Bill, what the hell?”

And God knew, they both lived busy lives.

William had his correspondence, his books and his memoirs, Slade had his big sword and the people he stuck it in, and all in all it just didn’t leave much time for…well. The sort of frivolity William pictured between the hours of 2am and 4am.

They’d always been practical men.

(Well, more specifically William had always been a practical man, and Slade had always been good at mimicking those traits he admired but did not possess.)

That being the case: what did a practical man do when, in the midst of celebratory drinks following the completion of a difficult job – one of those ‘make it look like an accident’ sort of nuisances – he accidentally kissed his best friend?

His handsome, brilliant, utterly beloved best friend, who was prickly at the best of times and didn’t like surprises.

Who was now staring at him in obvious confusion and less obvious (to anyone who didn’t know him like William did) distress over being confused.

“Bill?” Slade repeated warily, his posturing suggesting that he was on the verge of taking a step back.

Really, William scolded himself, that was the worst possible way he could have disclosed his affections. While Deathstroke the Terminator would readily fling himself out a helicopter at a moment’s notice, Slade Wilson avoided spontaneity in his personal life whenever he could. William had seen him go passive aggressive for bloody _hours_ after William revealed that he’d purchased a new brand of toothpaste.

“Oh dear. Sorry,” said William, much as he’d said in the wake of the toothpaste incident, before realizing that was hardly going to restore normalcy this time.

Damn. Damn! Just by watching Slade’s eye, William could practically track the mental avalanche he’d initiated:

_Bill kissed me._

_???_

_Is this Bill? Is it an imposter?_

_Am I hallucinating? Have I been drugged or is this a new side effect of the enhancements?_

_Alternative theory: **Bill’s** the one hallucinating, imagining I’m Judy Bench in the new Bond movies. Or maybe he’s sick?_

_Or maybe none of this is actually happening. How many enemies do I have who can conjure illusions?_

_Where’s my sword?_

William had always known that hitching his sensibly proportioned wagon to Slade’s fiery, blood-soaked chariot drawn by eight of the type of warhorses that ate other warhorses would eventually get him killed. Law of averages. Sooner or later, the halo of bullets that followed Slade everywhere he went would make an end of Mrs Wintergreen’s favourite boy.

Still. He was a proud man. He’d fantasised about a death at least slightly more glorious than being reflexively murdered in a Surrey hotel for the folly of getting on Slade’s twitchy side.

Damn everything.

Mind you, death would be preferable to the awkward silence that now had them in its grip.

“Did I ever tell you about that time I broke my arm in Alaska?” William said, throwing back the rest of his scotch with a shaking hand. “Funniest story. I was on a bus going through…”

“Why did you do that?” Slade interrupted, half-shouting.

Darling man. Absolutely no instinct for when to leave a subject to rot. Darling idiot.

“Mm? Oh, that. Felt like it, I s’pose,” said William, hunting around for his cigarettes and wondering if smoking five at once would give him the heart attack he so desperately needed.

Slade picked up his pack – it had been resting beside their bottle – and handed it to him. “Felt like _what_ , precisely?”

“Ah, you know. Like something. Never mind, let’s put it behind us.”

“‘Put it behind us’?”

William Wintergreen had been in love with Slade Wilson for twenty years and, as Slade’s face slowly, slowly split into a horrible grin, he seriously considered drowning him in the toilet.

“You’re _blushing_ , Billy. I didn’t know you could do that. Hah! Long time since I learned anything new about you.”

He slapped William on the back and stood.

“Alright. Let’s give it a try.”

“Eh?”

“Let’s try it. Come on.”

And then he took off his shirt.

William chewed an unlit cigarette, feeling vaguely detached from his own body. “Are you pissing about, Wilson?”

Slade smirked, hands on his hips. Showing off his broad, muscled chest, the vain shit. “Don’t be gutless. What’s the worst that could happen? We don’t like it, we stop. Easy.”

“No, this is wrong. Why’re you being so…spirited?” William asked, suddenly deeply suspicious, even as his fingers moved down to his belt and started fiddling with the buckle. “You’re usually such a sulky piece of work when I spring unexpected news on you. You only act like this when you’ve won something, a fight or an argu-…”

The truth dawned.

“ _Fuck_ ,” William groaned. “Oh, fuck. That’s it. You won. I broke and made the first move. In your frothing nightmare of a mind, that means you _won_.”

“No,” said Slade, with his ‘yes, idiot’, face on.

“How long were you going to wait? God, you bastard. You realize I’m fucking old? If I never said or did anything, were you going to wait until I was ninety-eight and hooked up to a life support machine? Do you know, Wilson, you’re an absolute…you…bah!”

He flung away the cigarette and stamped his foot in frustration.

Stepping closer, Slade rumbled, “It wasn’t like that.”

“No, don’t use the voice on me. I’m not Lillian or Grayson and I don’t find your antics amusing. I’m sodding well _annoyed_ , Slade. So I don’t think I will seduce you. You’re not good for my blood pressure.”

It was, he knew, an inelegant declaration coming from a man who was already halfway undressed. At least he wasn’t obviously erect. Slade was, though that was to be expected. The day had not yet dawned when Slade Wilson was not in the mood for sex.

“You’re the one seducing me, are you?” said Slade, arching an eyebrow. “The self-proclaimed upcoming nonagenarian who styles his facial hair on Rich Uncle Pennybags and his mode of speech on a sleazier Lord fucking Grantham? You’re the charmer in this scenario, is that right?”

“Fuck you, you repulsive American tosser. You arrogant, aggravating tart. How dare…”

Crossing the room with his particular brand of inhuman speed, Slade took hold of him at the waist and lifted him off the floor.

That was it. Simply lifted him up, about nine inches between his dangling feet and the floorboards, and stared at him, frowning.

“Very mature,” said William, icily.

“Yes, you are.”

“Suck my balls, you rude-… _mmnf!_ ”


End file.
